


Sit down, it's just a talk

by EmmaArthur



Series: Lines of Fear and Blame [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex has issues, Dissociation, Everyone Has Issues, First of a series, Friendship, Gen, Isobel has issues, Isobel needs to deal with her trauma, Light Angst, Making Friends, PTSD, Post Finale, Post-Season/Series 01, Trauma, Who can help her better than Alex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 22:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaArthur/pseuds/EmmaArthur
Summary: After Noah's death, Isobel needs to deal with her blackouts. As therapy is out of the question, Kyle directs her to the next best person, the only one of them who has experience with PTSD: Alex Manes.





	Sit down, it's just a talk

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Alex and Isobel becoming friends. This is the first of a series which will revolve around helping each other through trauma survival and PTSD crises, with The Fray's How To Save A Life lyrics as titles.
> 
> This was meant to have more snark and fluff, but apparently I just have to turn everything into angst.

Kyle looks up from his paperwork at a knock on the door. It's already opened−it's a shared office, so people come in and out all the time−so he immediately sees who it is.

“Isobel? What are you doing here?”

“I need your help,” Isobel says, uncharacteristically hesitant.

Kyle hasn't seen her much since her stay in the hospital. He tried to stay out of the whole mess with Max except to help Liz come up with a way to revive him−which Isobel and Michael apparently helped with, but Kyle wasn't there to see it. He's been with Alex in the bunker instead, and Alex has gone out of his way to stay as far away from Michael as possible.

“Come with me,” Kyle says, seeing Isobel hesitate to say more. It's just him in the office, but the corridor outside is busy.

He leads her to an empty exam room. “What is it?” he asks, sitting down on the stool by the exam table.

Isobel stays standing; crossing her arms over her chest. “I'm having blackouts again.”

“Like before?” Kyle frowns. “With Noah gone−”

“No, not like that. I don't wake up in weird places anymore, and I don't think anything actually happens, but...I just lose time. Hours, sometimes.”

“We knew the blackouts weren't Noah's doing,” Kyle says. “It has to be an underlying condition. Do you know when it started?”

Isobel looks away, crossing her arms over her chest. “That night in the desert,” she says quietly.

“What happened?”

“We were out camping. I...strayed away from the tent, and...there was this...man...”

“He...” Kyle trails off. He has training, dealing with patients' bad stories and psychological issues, but it's different when it's someone he knows. Even if he doesn't know Isobel that well.

“Yeah,” Isobel nods, still not looking at him. “The boys heard me scream and came running. Max...killed him.”

Kyle blinks. “Wow. I−I'm sorry this happened to you.”

Isobel looks disarmed for a moment at that, but then she straightens up her posture, as if trying to fake confidence. “That's when it started. Or a few days after that. But Noah also said that it's when he hatched out of his pod, so−” she makes a vague gesture.

“There would be long-term trauma,” Kyle says. “And it's possible that your subconscious remembers what Noah made you do.”

“I remember. Liz's antidote did that, I started to remember. It's, uh, disturbing.”

“I can imagine.”

“So what about the blackouts? What's causing them?” Isobel asks, standing up even straighter, like she wants to take back control of the situation.

Kyle shakes his head. “We can't give you an MRI, or even blood tests. It would be too dangerous. I don't know. When does it happen? What does it feel like?”

“Sometimes it feels like I'm floating, like I can't feel anything anymore,” Isobel says slowly. “I'm thinking of Noah, or of...you know...and then I just...go away. And I wake up, and it's been an hour. I don't know, it's hard to explain.”

Kyle nods. He recognizes this, but he's struggling to find a way to explain it. “Listen,” he says. “I can't say for sure, but I don't think anything's wrong with your brain. You're not actually blacking out, as far as I can tell, you're dissociating.”

“So it's not a medical issue?”

Kyle sighs. “No, it is. Well, it's psychological. Which is not at all something I can help you with. What you need is therapy.”

“Oh yeah, sure, so I can tell a random shrink that my brother killed the man that raped me in the desert with his alien powers and my other brother covered it up with _his _power, and my alien husband has been taking over my body to become a serial killer. And oh, I'm also an alien and I can control your mind. Should I see you again next week?”

Kyle blinks. “Right,” he says after a beat. “Maybe not. Can't you find some way to...explain that in a way that doesn't involve aliens? Or that doesn't land Max and Michael in jail?”

“What's the point of therapy if I'm just lying?” Isobel shrugs.

“Fair enough,” Kyle nods. “No therapy. But I don't know how to help you.”

“Aren't there techniques that I could try?” Isobel asks. “Textbooks about trauma and stuff? I just want to be in control of my body.”

“Sure, I could find you some textbooks. Maybe Liz could help out too.” Kyle frowns, trying to come up with better ideas. “Wait, no, I know someone who could actually help.”

“You do?” Isobel asks, actual hope in her voice.

“Yeah, he's been through all that, so he can probably give you pointers, at least,” Kyle says.

“Who is it?”

“Alex Manes.”

Isobel frowns.  “Michael's−not-boyfriend?”

Kyle almost laughs at the confused look on Isobel's face, then remembers why Michael's behavior in the last month does not make him laugh.  “ Yes,”  he says . “He's done three tours in Irak, and came back injured.  He knows about PTSD.”

“But he's Jesse Manes's son. The man who ran Caulfield and kept so many of us imprisoned.”

Kyle shrugs. “Alex isn't his father. He's quite the opposite, actually. And my father was involved in that too,  so if we're thinking like that− ”

“Okay,” Isobel nods pensively. “Where do I find him?”

“How about I give you his phone number? You can call and ask to meet him somewhere. I'd advise somewhere that isn't the Wild Pony.”

“Why−Michael,” Isobel understands. “And Maria. Right. I wouldn't go to the Wild Pony anyway. You think the Crashdown would be okay?”

“Alex and Liz are pretty good friends, so probably,” Kyle answers. “Here's the number.”

“Thank you,” Isobel almost smiles. “Really. Thank you for your time.”

“It's what I do,” Kyle smiles back. “I hope Alex can help you.”

Alex sits down in the last booth at the Crashdown Café, on the side facing the door.

“Liz is still at her lab,” Arturo tells him, walking over. There are only a couple of other patrons, though the café is likely to get busier from now.

“That's okay, I'm here to meet someone,” Alex answers, smiling up at him. He should come here more often, he tells himself, if only to see Arturo, and maybe Liz. But then he hasn't been feeling so social lately.

He orders a milkshake from Arturo, if only for old time sake. It's not really his drink anymore. He'd like something stronger, but he's been trying not to drink too much lately, especially not this early  in the day . He can see himself end up in the gutter far too easily, plus alcohol doesn't mix well with his pain medication, and he finds himself needing it often, lately.

Isobel's call caught him by surprise, just as he was about to leave work. He has a month to go before he can officially retire, so he's been tying up loose ends and mentoring a younger Airman in code breaking while on base, then heading to the bunker to work on project Shepard at night.  He was heading there when his phone rang.

It surprises him that Kyle would give Isobel his number, and even more that she refused to tell him why over the phone. She just asked to meet, and there was enough of an edge to her voice that Alex accepted quickly.

Arturo comes back with his milkshake before Isobel shows up. Alex starts sipping it absently, thinking.  What could Isobel want with him? If she's here to talk about Michael, he'll be out the door before she can say two words, but she assured him on the phone that it was something else.

T he first thing Alex notices when she walks in is how much of her poise she's lost. He's seen her a few times since the whole Noah debacle, but only in settings where he didn't bother to really look: mostly at Max's place, where he and Kyle came to debrief the others on what little progress they made on Project Shepard.  Her tiredness is hidden behind her perfect makeup, but Alex doesn't need to see the bag under her eyes to know that look.

She's lost weight, too. She generally doesn't look well. Alex is starting to feel like that's a theme−Liz was a ghost until they managed to bring Max back, and a month of being dead didn't do Max any favor, despite the pod's stasis. Kyle is overworked, moonlighting along with Alex on Project Shepard. Alex hasn't seen Maria since the day she told him she wouldn't hook up with Michael again and then did the opposite, and the few glimpses he's seen of Michael, he didn't stay long enough to see if he's doing well.

“You look...tired,” Isobel says, sitting down across from him.

Alex almost laughs.

“I could say the same about you,” he shoots back.

He is tired. He hasn't slept a full night since Caulfield−no, since seeing Michael again. Well, if he's really honest with himself, he hasn't slept a full night in eight years, but it's recently gotten worse.  Staying up all night working four days in a row because trying to sleep terrifies him worse.

“The empty house takes a little adjusting,” Isobel says.

Her openness surprises Alex, since they barely know each other, really. But then she's the one who called him.

“I'm guessing you're not hoping I fill that void,” he deadpans, hoping that it will be received well. He remembers Isobel being snarky in high school, but she might not take jokes about her dead serial-killer alien husband too well.

There's a lot of potential there, though, Alex thinks offhandedly, as she snorts.

“Would you swing that way if it's for me, Manes?” Isobel asks, suggestively biting her lower lip.

“In your dreams,” Alex laughs. “So why are we here?”

Isobel turns serious again.  “ I need you to tell me about trauma.”

Alex blinks. “What?”

“I need to get rid of the blackouts. Valenti said you'd know more about it than him.”

“Kyle said that?” Alex asks once he's gotten over Isobel's shocking directness and parsed what she's actually asking.

Alex has never talked about his time in the Middle East with Kyle. He tends to keep things close to heart, even now. He hadn't realized how much Kyle figured out on his own.

“Do you or do you not?” Isobel asks instead of answering.

Alex runs a hand through his hair. “I suppose I do,” he says.

“So you can help me.”

“I didn't say that. I'm not a therapist, and having PTSD doesn't make me an expert.”

Isobel tilts her head curiously. “PTSD?”

“Post Traumatic−” Alex starts to explain.

“No, I know what it means,” Isobel interrupts him, raising a hand. “I just didn't−”

“You never applied that word to yourself,” Alex nods with understanding.

“I don't know if I should. Doesn't it just happen to soldiers?”

Alex lets out a short laugh. “Nah. It's actually pretty common. Any kind of trauma, you know, a car accident, or−”

Neither of them seem very good at finishing sentences. Maybe it's the fatigue. Or just the subject.

Alex doesn't know where Isobel's blackouts come from, just that it's what allowed Noah in. Liz brought him up to speed on what he'd missed, after Max died. He knows the tipping point of his own nightmares, though. He knows when he started waking up screaming.

It definitely wasn't after losing his leg. By then, he'd been biting his pillow for a good number of years.

Arturo comes back and Isobel orders a coffee, looking like she'd much rather have wine. She's definitely not the milkshake type. Alex sips at his milkshake again, and it makes the awkward silence slightly less awkward.

“You got a parade,” Isobel says after a while.

“Yeah,” Alex shrugs. “That was uncomfortable.”

“I helped organize it,” Isobel mutters.

Alex snorts. “Did no one think a platform with steps might be a lot for a guy on crutches?”

“That's what you got from it?”

“It seemed important at the time,” Alex shrugs. “More than standing there staring at my father while the mayor made a stupid discourse. By then I'd been to two decoration ceremonies, you know. At least _they_ had the decency to give me a chair.”

“I'll try to think of it next time we have an injured war hero to welcome home,” Isobel rolls her eyes.

It's not that she doesn't care, Alex thinks. She's not the kind of person who apologizes easily. And she probably had little to do with the logistics of that parade anyway.

Alex actually doesn't care, though it angered him at the time. Discovering inaccessibility was a rough awakening, but he's past raging at it. He has a hard time finding the rage inside him these days.

The milkshake doesn't sit well in his stomach. He's pretty sure he's not developing a lactose intolerance, so either the anger is still there somewhere and he can't even feel his own emotions, or his body is too exhausted to digest properly. Neither option sounds appealing.

Isobel's “space espresso” is a ridiculously small thing, and even she looks disgusted looking at it.

“I'm tired,” she says out of nowhere. It's not whiny, just the statement of a fact.

Alex isn't expecting the confession, and he blinks at her for a moment before his brain catches up.

“Yeah, me too,” he says.

He thinks about the bunker he's supposed to get back to tonight. It's certainly not appealing, but then neither is his cabin.

“I need this thing gone,” Isobel says. “Can you make that happen?”

Alex realizes, a little belatedly, that she's talking about her blackouts, or possibly her entire PTSD, and not the coffee she's glaring at.

“I don't know much about alien psychology,” he offers. “But it doesn't generally work that way.”

Isobel looks up at him and stares. “Are you saying it never stops?”

“I wouldn't know. I've been told it might, eventually. They usually add 'with therapy' to that.”

“I can't go to therapy,” Isobel whines. The constant changes in her demeanor, from careful composure to childish pouting to flirty banter, keep taking Alex off-guard. He wonder if that's part of her personality, or just a testimony of how lost she is.

“I went,” Alex shrugs. “I got a dog.”

Isobel glances up at him, and they both explode in a fit of laughter. The kind that ends with their eyes full of tears because they're _so fucking exhausted_.

“Her name's Ksenya,” Alex adds, wiping his eyes.

Isobel blinks. “Greek for...alien?”

“Stranger, technically,” Alex nods. “But also for hospitality. I didn't even know, I swear. I got her when I got out of rehab.”

“You called your dog 'alien',” Isobel repeats, unimpressed.

“Hospitality for a stranger. It's a pretty common name in eastern Europe,” Alex defends himself.

He doesn't know why he chose it, himself. He met a girl called Ksenya once, years ago, a Blue Helmet. It's the first name that came to his head when it came to name his dog−he's never thought about the irony of it until now.

“Have you even been to eastern Europe?” Isobel asks.

“Does Germany count? I was in the hospital there.”

“Do they name girls Ksenya?”

“I don't think so,” Alex shakes his head.

“Then it doesn't count.”

Alex laughs−he hasn't laughed this much in _months_−and rolls his eyes. “I think we've gone a bit off-topic here,” he says.

“Right,” Isobel sighs. “So, can you do anything?”

“Listen, if you're having full-on black-outs−” Alex starts.

“Valenti said it was called dissociating,” Isobel interrupts him.

“If you're dissociating far enough that you lose time−”

“It's not as long as it was when Noah got into my head, only an hour or so at most,” Isobel talks over him again.

Almost like she doesn't want to hear the rest of his sentence.

Alex takes a deep breath, trying to center himself. He takes another sip of his milkshake, and it makes the sucking noise of the straw reaching the end of the liquid.

“Sorry,” Isobel says sheepishly when he doesn't talk for a minute.

“You need to do _something,_” Alex continues, after waiting for another moment to make sure that they're both calm enough. “I'm clearly not the ideal person to help, but I get why therapy is out of the question. So...maybe I can share some tips with you.”

Isobel looks back at him blankly for a moment, then with a mixture of emotions. Relief, but also fear. Alex knows, how scary it is to admit you need help, especially when you've always prided yourself in being in control of your life. He also knows, now, how much he was lying to himself with that control.

“Yes,” Isobel nods finally. “Tips. I can work with tips.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! Second part is written and should be up sometime in the next week or so. Remember to subscribe to the series, not this story, if you wish to know when I post. 
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you think!


End file.
